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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28017435">k'taylir gar a’den, gar kar’ta</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailingthenightsea/pseuds/sailingthenightsea'>sailingthenightsea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, Fluff to Angst, Found Family, Mando'a, The Ball™, but he doesn't get one, he will tho when he gets his baby back, i read all the angst fics and it wasn't enough, kinda late but i'm doing it, post ch14, so i wrote one</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:34:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,018</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28017435</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailingthenightsea/pseuds/sailingthenightsea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When he says the kid’s name, there is a sun behind his ribs and he is burning alive with it. When he tucks the kid into the hammock, when he hums him to sleep, when he says <em>I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without you</em>, there is a gentle brush of warmth, safety, <em>love</em> at the edge of his mind and it should terrify him, this vulnerability, this incomprehensible power, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) &amp; Din Djarin, Grogu &amp; Din Djarin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>239</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>k'taylir gar a’den, gar kar’ta</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title of the fic translates to "hold your rage, your heart"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He exhales. The kid shifts, tiny claws scraping lightly against beskar as he resettles. He makes a small noise in his sleep, soft and content, and Din’s chest fills and fills and fills until he thinks maybe he could drown in it.</p><p>Inhale, exhale again.</p><p>There’s a moment where he falters, where he stops, midstep, dodging one of the kid’s little felt toys, and realizes, he realizes how much his life has shifted to accommodate this child. This child that he can’t imagine his life without.</p><p>This child that he has no choice but to give up. For the kid’s safety, for his own good.</p><p>
  <em> My life is not fit for a child. </em>
</p><p>He doesn’t allow himself to dwell on the handful of toys scattered across the floor of the ship or the crayons kept in the little box next to his tools. He doesn’t let himself think about the fresh food he’s started keeping next to the ration bars that used to be all he had.</p><p>He doesn’t let himself consider how his life could be, how he could reshape it further, how he could make his life into something fit for a child, this child, <em> his </em> child, but he can’t <em> let himself think that</em>.</p><p>The kid isn’t <em> his</em>. It doesn’t matter that Din would lay down his life for him in a heartbeat. It doesn’t matter that he would give up everything for him, to protect him, to give him a chance at a normal life.</p><p>It doesn’t matter that the words hover on the tip of his tongue, that every time he opens his mouth, he has to swallow them first.</p><p>He wants to say them, wants to swear to this child that he will have a home and a family forever.</p><p>Gods above, Din wants it all <em> desperately</em>.</p><p>But he can’t. He can’t because the kid belongs with the <em> jetii</em>, with his own kind, with his people, not with him. The kid deserves better than him, deserves a life with those who can teach him, train him, <em> protect him </em> in ways Din can’t.</p><p>Then there is Ahsoka Tano and a name. There is a request, denied. There is another trial, another planet, another delay to this inevitable loss he cannot bring himself to face.</p><p><em> It’s just another job</em>, he lies, again and again. <em> It’s just a job</em>, but he doesn’t believe it. He can’t remember the last time he did.</p><p>When he says the kid’s name, there is a sun behind his ribs and he is burning alive with it. When he tucks the kid into the hammock, when he hums him to sleep, when he says <em> I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without you</em>, there is a gentle brush of warmth, safety, <em> love </em> at the edge of his mind and it should terrify him, this vulnerability, this incomprehensible power, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t. How could it- how could <em> he </em> ever scare Din?</p><p>Grogu (even in his head the name feels foreign, unfamiliar, so he runs it over and over, slowly, like the stone of a cherry on his tongue, learning the shape and the weight of it) was a child of magic, of the Force. He could feel it, use it, manipulate it, in a way Din imagined was akin to the way children of Mandalore could a weapon, could themselves. Ahsoka Tano had said the kid had been trained, that he would require training still, and it reminded him of something his <em> buir </em> had said to him when he began his own training.</p><p>
  <em> Gar rugotal ti ibic baar, ibic kot, ad’ika. Ni cuy’ shi bar’juri gar pehea pirimmur bic. </em>
</p><p>Grogu was born with his magic; his powers are no more frightening than Grogu is himself. It does not scare him, what his- what <em> the </em> kid can do for the simple reason that it is <em> the kid </em>.</p><p>What does scare him, though, is every step he takes toward the inevitable. Ahsoka had said to let it fade, but he remembers being a foundling, scared and powerless, and he remembers the first time he had won a sparring match, the first time he had stopped being afraid. <em> You were born with this power. </em> How could he be the one to take that safety away from the kid?</p><p>It’s his <em> job </em> to protect him. It has become everything he is.</p><p>Din Djarin’s life begins and ends with this child.</p><p>It is something he is waging wars with himself to admit. Ahsoka Tano said to let it fade, said <em> he sees you as a father</em>, but what is a father’s job if not to do what is best for his son?</p><p>Then he’s gone.</p><p>He’s gone, taken by the people Din had nearly killed himself and everyone else to protect him from. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s <em> gone </em> and Din feels like he’s falling, still, hours later.</p><p>It feels like being torn open. It feels like his heart is somewhere halfway across the galaxy.</p><p><em> Bic rucuyi gar bora cabuor kaysh</em>, he thinks, over and over. <em> It was your job. It was your job. It was your kriffing job. </em></p><p>He wants to rage, he wants to break something, everything, wants to hurt and bruise and bleed, but he holds onto that.</p><p>Burning is still a word that applies to him, but it’s not a star, not a sun, it’s a supernova, it’s an explosion, a combustion, wild and uncontained and all consuming, like the one that took the Razor Crest from him.</p><p>Like the one that took the little felt toys, the crayons, the blanket. Like the one that took everything except the spear and the ball. It means something, he thinks, that it left the ball. That it left this one tiny grounding point in a world that is endless falling, spinning, unsteady. He holds it in his palm in the belly of the Slave I, hard enough to hurt, tight enough to start cramping his fingers, but he doesn’t let go.</p><p>He holds onto it, the rage and the little metal ball. He knows, he <em> knows </em> that he’s going to need it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>mando'a:<br/>gar rugotal ti ibic baar, ibic kot / you were born with this body, this power<br/>ni cuy’ shi bar’juri gar pehea pirimmur bic / i am simply teaching you how to wield it<br/>bic rucuyi gar bora cabuor kaysh / it was your job to protect him</p><p>hope you enjoyed!! comments &amp; kudos are very much appreciated &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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